Heir Apparent
by Kyrieath
Summary: Post-Apocalyptic AU; DISCONTINUED - see profile for details.
1. Chapter 1

Author: Cyhirae

Notes: Dark/AU & dream inspired fic here folks. Post Apocalyptic Hetalia fics have been popping up all over and I decided "hell with it" and jumped aboard that ship. It's always a fun setting to write in. Now a warning: I have no idea how long this fic will be, who all will be in it beyond Gilbert/Prussia and so forth. There is also character death, starting right here in this chapter. Not a cheery, happy story. Updates will happen as they happen- might be daily, might be weekly; could even be monthly depending on when inspiration/further dream segments decide to say hi, so don't hold your breath on updates. Now then~ -I also need a better name for this story.

Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine. Good thing too; I like silly fun crack. I just can't write it.

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The days this figure had worn white with a black cross emblazoned on it had been long ago; since the attendance of Old Fritz to the throne, he hadn't even uttered so much as a prayer to the Lord in Heaven. Now he was praying and cursing at that long ignored figure in equal parts as he knelt by his brother in the ruins of Berlin.

"Please, they need him; that's reason enough ain't it?" Shaking hands rested on the still blonde's chest, pressing down in a futile attempt to rouse the heart beat again. "God, please, damn you! Do something- help him!"

Tears have made the form indistinct to the man 'praying' and turned red-violet eyes a pale pinkish hue before they trace down a soot and filth covered cheek to reveal the too-pallid skin beneath. The man on the ground looked to be the healthier one by far, but his eyes were closed, his chest unmoving when the kneeling man pulled his hands up so he could listen for a heart beat.

_I know it's hopeless…._ Gilbert closed his eyes to deny more tears as he set his hands to his brother's chest once more. _I know it's hopeless…but damn you, God- if this is why you didn't take me when the Wall fell, then to Hell with you!_

Old Fritz would be appalled to have heard he even thought such things; Old Fritz would be appalled at a lot of the things that had happened in the past few years. To see Berlin reduced to an empty, toxic shell like so many other nations' capitals in this idiotic war; to know how many people died in each strike when they weren't even able to call on anyone to help them.

Gilbert raised his hands from his brother's corpse at last; the body had cooled now…he could feel the death-chill beneath the clothes, mocking all of his efforts and prayers. Ludwig was gone; Deutschland was gone.

America, England, France, Spain and now Germany; and those were just the ones he knew about. What about in South America? Or Africa or Asia? Was anywhere safe from this massacre?

"Probably not Asia…" It had all started there, after all. If there was a single surviving nation there, it was probably China; Yao had already survived through things just as bad in their own way and his 'children' were all over the world. He had to give the Chinese credit- they were incredibly good at staying 'themselves' no matter where they went. No damned wonder Yao was all but immortal.

_If only West had done the same_… Gilbert shook those thoughts away and picked his brother's body up with an unnecessary gentleness. He was dead, after all. What was he going to feel? Gilbert had gathered hundreds of corpses from the field and tossed them into their communal graves before. But this one particular body he couldn't be so careless about. He wandered through the ruins of the city, moving toward where he sensed life still holding on.

Ludwig was gone; and now his people were Gilbert's to sense and care for once again. All things had come full cycle, apparently…what Gilbert had once given to his brother to save him now came back to him on Ludwig's death.

If this was what it had taken to become a proper nation again, Gilbert would have happily remained in that little corner of Ludwig's house for all eternity. His hands tightened on the still form, the blonde head tucked briefly under his chin as Gilbert did all he could to stifle down a sob. He hadn't felt this empty since Old Fritz had died…but Old Fritz hadn't left this kind of painful legacy to remind him, either.

Every breath these people took of this poisoned air that seared his lungs, every beat of their hearts that he could feel in his own chest again; he could never escape that. He had longed for it again for so long; well. Be careful what you wish for all right…look what it took to grant it.

"Halt! Identifizieren Sie sich!" Gilbert drew up short at that shout and the sound of guns being readied; he had found the survivors he'd been looking for, evidently; none of their attackers could speak German with that distinct snap. And there were even military among them if the grade of those weapons ad the fact they were holding them right was anything to go by; even better.

"Gilbert Beilschmidt; you don't know me but any surviving high ranked officer or governmental elite will know the man I am carrying." Reluctantly, he settled Ludwig down on the ground between them and backed away; he had to get to whomever was now in charge. "Take him to be identified and tell whoever identifies him that his brother is here."

These people couldn't stay here; they were all going to die if they did. He could feel it in every inch of his being, on a level that reminded him of the old horrors of the Black Plague. It would take them too long to figure this out through their typical means; this was why beings like _them_ existed. Or so Ludwig had kept saying over and over again when faced with Gilbert's absolute lack of interest in being the local population barometer back when Prussia had still existed.

'_Not the way I live, West~' _, he'd always so cheerfully stated to his brother's frustration. _'That's what the bosses are for; the only reason _I'm_ here is to fight!'_ And that's precisely what he'd done for centuries. He'd never thought he'd regret it…but watching the men collect Ludwig's body and carry it off into the camp to be identified, he was suddenly finding new room for regrets.

Gilbert sat in the ruins of the street, under the watchful eye of the remaining guards and their guns. He took a mental step back from himself and regarded the scene; he wasn't exactly an inspiring sight in an inspiring place, was he? No building was whole along this avenue; probably why the refugees had hidden here. The place was already bombed to hell and back, the skies a permanent shade of charcoal grey from all the smoke and dust from the attacks. They were probably still busily tearing apart the side of Berlin that still looked inhabitable while the people hid in these unstable ruins to avoid being caught. And then there was him; ragged, faded jeans covered in blood and dirt, an equally ragged tank top of now indeterminable color- the only thing that stood out was the iron cross hanging around his neck.

_Bet they think it's one of those cheap goth store knock offs. _Gilbert closed his hand over the cross, feeling the sharp edges and engravings press against his palm. But where it had once given him some sense of stability…now there was nothing. God had let him down; Ludwig was dead. _Heh…not that I was much of a holy knight but was I bad enough to deserve _this_, God?_

"Beilschmidt!" That sudden bark rose over the ruins as a uniformed figure ran up between the guards that kept watch. Guns were quickly raised as the General waved them back, then stared hard at the ragged albino as he pulled himself to his feet. "Are you-"

"Yeah, you're stuck with me now. I know; it's not givin' me a whole lot of hope either." A try is made for the usual devil may care grin; it doesn't last long on Gilbert's face as no chastising comment comes from the usual corner for him to take things more seriously. That particular scolding would never happen again. "I'm out of practice but we'll see what happens- not like it can get any worse."

The General frowned deeply for a moment, looking the other over again before he waved a hand for Gilbert to follow him. He didn't know a lot about these 'incarnate' nations; only that the now acting President had all but leapt to hear that while 'special officer' Ludwig had died, his brother was apparently alive and well. He didn't see a bit of Ludwig's discipline in this sickly, pale figure, however. He walked with his hands tucked in his pockets and head and shoulders slouched in exhaustion; something that seemed to be getting that much worse the closer they got to the encampment proper.

"Damn…oh _damn_; you guys don't even have any real food supplies, do you?" That comment came as the albino staggered abruptly, catching his arm to steady himself. "Shit, this is gonna be bad…" The General blinked and paused to let the man get his bearings again as he rambled on. "That's it, we need to leave _yesterday_. The west side still has some intact basements; the bombings didn't do more than some surface damage. Should be some stuff in there, yeah?"

The albino rambled on as they neared the half-intact structure the acting-President was holding council in; unlike the General, pure relief was all that showed when he laid eyes on Gilbert. Then his eyes snapped to the General.

"Has he been making any suggestions, General?"

"He was talking about intact basements on the west side but how could he-" The acting-President stared at him for a long moment, then slammed a fist down onto the rickety table between them.

"Send people out right now then; if anyone would know there's a chance, he would! Hurry; we don't have long before they discover this place!" The General stiffened and glowered at the acting-President, then roughly saluted and left the shell of a building at a rigid pace. Gilbert frowned at that sudden stab of pain; these were two influential men who were either going to tear these people in two or save them. Right now, it was looking to be the former.

"Not really a good time for in fighting; why don't you save the sweet nothings for when you're not about to die?" The acting-President gave a start at those words, then blinked at the albino as he walked to the side. Ludwig was there, though thankfully now covered in something- probably curtains from this building -to act as a burial shroud. Not that it would be needed much longer; nations didn't leave corpses that lingered long.

"Pardon? At any rate, Beilschmidt; can you-"

"I can tell you that everyone's gonna die if we stay here. You need to get supplies, arms and any kind of transportation you can get your hands on and get the hell out of here. Trucks, cars, bicycles, horses- if it moves and can carry someone, use it! Everything's poisoned here; they don't have to find you now. They just have to keep you pinned down until you die. And that's not gonna take very long."

The acting-President took a long, bewildered look at the incarnate nation kneeling by the shrouded body. He had dealt with Ludwig plenty of times, but he had never met the 'brother' the nation had occasionally mentioned. They couldn't have been more different; Ludwig was never one to act like he was giving the commands for one thing.

'Well? What're you going to do- try to feed yourself by catching flies with your mouth hanging open?" Gilbert didn't bother to turn to face the man as he watched that shroud…finally, it was sinking down. Ludwig was well and truly gone. "…Sleep well, West; might be seeing you real soon if these idiots can't get their acts together. And they call themselves German!"

The scorn in the tone dug deep as the acting-President stood straighter, glowering at the albino nation. Undaunted, Gilbert stood from the now empty shroud and turned to face the man with an even glare right back, head tilted back slightly as he crossed his arms. He could feel the people now; they were dying but they weren't going down without a fight.

If he could just get this guy and the General to stop fighting each other, they just might have a chance.

"All right, listen up 'Mr. President'; I'm Gilbert Beilschmidt, Ludwig's _older_ brother. Like it or not, you're stuck with me and I'm going to keep this country going even if it kills you. Until you decide which one of you's really in charge, _I'm_ giving the orders and you damned well better listen!" Two potential leaders arguing meant there wasn't a leader; and a vacuum of authority was something Gilbert couldn't let stand. He never answered to _two_ leaders before, he wasn't about to start now.

It's a flurry of activity from that point on; orders drawn up for reconnaissance and salvaging, preparations being made for a full scale retreat with refugees of the civilian kind in tow. Gilbert ground his teeth in frustration at the process, but kept up the confident exterior as he barked out each order to the equally offended acting-President and General both.

_Good, let 'em be offended. _Gilbert didn't bother to keep his smirk down at the thought. _At least they're agreeing on something._ He turned his attention back to the evacuation and march preparations, a frown trying to wipe the smirk away.

_Damn you, God, for taking West…and damn _you_, West, for not telling me a damned thing about this!_ All he knew was the attacks were coming from the west; the United States had been hit first, then it had gone eastward from there. He had no idea if Canada or any of the South American countries were intact. All he knew was which way the attacks were coming from and that the original problem had started in everyone's favorite problem-child country, North Korea. _Wonder if they're even still around after kicking over this can of worms._

Gilbert stared at the map for a long moment; if they had hit France and Spain…_damn it, Francis, Antonio…not you, too…_Then Italy was no safe haven even temporarily. He'd be amazed if it was even still standing. So south was out; that left north and east, with the attacks coming out of the west.

"…No time to get ships ready; east it is." Apparently it was time to pay Europe's cross dressing Slavic a visit. Not something he was looking forward to; getting Feliks to take anything seriously was like asking Ludwig to _not_- Gilbert shook his head abruptly to break that line of thought as the treacherous sting of tears strikes at his eyes again. No time for that and it just wasn't something men should do anyway, right?

With one last glance to the empty shroud, Gilbert picked up the orders he had written out and went to find the acting-President and General. He'd get the low down from them on the way about just who was against them right now. Even he couldn't fight an enemy without some information.

_Old Fritz, I've bothered you for some pretty silly stuff but seriously- help me out here. -And kick West for leaving _me_ to deal with this. I lead armies, not civilians!_ Well…no help immediately manifested so Gilbert took a deep breath, steadied his shoulders to something like his usual confidence and gave the orders to the disbelief of General and acting-President alike.

A hard march from Germany to Poland, picking up any survivors they found along the way while fleeing an enemy he knew nothing about. He might start believing in God again if they make it; it was going to take a miracle to do it.

_~To be continued, eventually._

_Afterward: Just a note; human characters will never have names in this. True to Hetalia form, if they're not historical figures, they're just sorta there and occasionally make commentary without ever having an actual identity or detailed description pinned to them. Fairly sure the one line of (probably grammatically mauled) German was fairly obvious, but for those who really want to know? "Halt! Identify yourself!".  
_


	2. Chapter 2

Author: Cyhirae

Notes: Well a villain finally appears along with some of what they're after. Look, it's a plot! I blame this on reading about secret societies and some of the really crazy ideas people can come up with if you give them half a chance.

Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine; good thing too. It'd be way too serious; about like this fic.

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Gilbert steeled himself against the exhaustion that clung to his limbs, the sickness that wanted to rake at his insides. He knew what it meant; his people were faltering on this insane march and panicking. Somewhere not so far behind, the unnamed enemy was snapping at their heels, trying to find some trace of where they had gone as they had been for days now.

_Thank God for inherent organization skills…_His countrymen had come through in the end; the retreat was as organized as one could ask for when children and the elderly alike were involved. Technically they were in four groups; all traveling single file to keep it hidden just how many were in each band and to conceal what means of transportation they were using.

Maybe at least one of them would make it to Poland. They had radio contact between the lines, but it was kept to an absolute minimum, consisting more of short codes or clicks of sound than any extended conversation. The fewer details this faceless enemy got, the better.

Finally, Gilbert felt his legs refusing to properly hold his weight any longer. He waved to the General behind him, signaling it was time for a rest.

"If we keep going, we're going to lose too many…rest for a couple of hours." The General gave him a long, uncertain look…then turned to parrot the orders back to the men. Radios clicked and vehicles were called to a halt, then tucked under cover to keep any possible overhead scouts from seeing them easily.

People crowded beneath the make shift shelter of the covers, dropping gratefully to the ground to rest for even this short while. Poor air, tainted water and exhaustion were taking their tolls; Berlin hadn't been ready for this attack at all.

Germany hadn't been ready for this attack. None of them had.

"General; who the hell is it?" The rasped out question apparently caught the military man off guard; he turned back to Gilbert as the albino tucked himself under the tarp as well. He wanted to sleep but he had to know what was going on.

"…We wish we knew, Beilschmidt. We know the initial fighting began in Asia, but North Korea never had this kind of firepower." He shed the helmet he had worn in an effort to cool himself and Gilbert grimaced to himself. There was nothing to this man's appearance to make him 'stick' to Gilbert's mind. He was just another nameless, 'faceless' person on the herd Gilbert was tending to. If it hadn't been for the uniform lending him definition, he would have been no different than the civilians huddled under the tarps to him.

Not his 'boss' then; that oh so necessary place was still empty.

"We think someone 'lent' North Korea aid to use them as a smoke screen to get their own agenda rolling. If that's so, they're probably a smoking hole themselves by now." The General pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, then blinked as a pale hand was held out expectantly.

"Two things general; first, hand one over. Second, it's 'Gilbert', not 'Beilschmidt'. If you want to be all formal, you can call me 'Preußen' until you figure out what the hell we're going to call this bunch now that Deutschland's history." Gilbert tried to keep his voice light about it; but the note fell flat at his own reminder. The General, on the other hand, at least has the grace to look properly surprised at the 'title' he gave himself.

"Preußen? But that disappeared-"

"Over a century ago- yeah, I know, I _know_. It was pretty fricken hard to miss, thank you captain obvious. But as you can see I'm still here and now I'm whatever this bunch is gonna call themselves if they live long enough to pick a name. It happens." Why, he's not sure…but it had always been a strange mix of circumstances with them anyway. Most countries didn't adopt little brothers that used to already _be_ a country and were on their way out. It usually happened before they were even properly 'born' as a country.

The cigarette is finally offered up and lit; he shouldn't be having it at all with everything else clawing at his lungs but if he was going to be suffering all the bad side effects anyway, he wanted to get something for it. They sit in mutual silence for a time, both mulling over situation.

"So after all the countries they've ripped up, no one knows a damned thing still?" Gilbert watched the end of his cigarette slowly creep closer to the butt; it wasn't a habit he'd much indulged but it distracted him for the moment. "Not even where their primary base of operations is?"

"Nothing; anyone we've sent for possible recon never comes back. The best we can figure is they're using a chemical weapon they've immunized themselves to or have a cure for from what bodies we have gotten back. They never get far past any taken country's border before they die." Gilbert tried not to wince at the sudden scrape of raw pain from this stoic looking man; he'd done it himself more than once. Sent his people off to die in the name of information and victory. "We doubt they even made contact with any of the people behind this."

"Then we're in- eh?" The albino paused at hearing a brief ruckus; people raising their voices in surprise, shock and anger. He starts to drop his hand to his gun, the General mirroring the move until a familiar voice suddenly cut through the air.

"Aah, let us through damn it! Bastards! Where's that potato bastard you all- get your hands off me, chigi!" If Gilbert had any doubts after the insult, that strange verbal 'tick' laid the last of them to rest. With a sigh, he took his hand off the gun and waved toward the disturbance.

"He's like me, General; from South Italy. -Lovino!" The disturbance got louder, though the General added his own voice to the fray, instructing the men to let the arrival through. Within moments, Lovino was all but storming towards them, someone in tow.

It isn't Feliciano, though. Gilbert blinked at the tiny figure being drug behind the bad tempered nation; Lili? Liechtenstein was here?

"Damn it, where is that wurst loving brother of yours?" Lovino comes to a halt with that in front of Gilbert, hand still firm around Lili's wrist. "Damned kraut! We were-"

"My brother's dead, Lovino- and you better shut that mouth of yours unless you want to join 'im! So where's _yours_?" Gilbert already knew the answer before he even saw Lovino flinch back, though. If Lili was with Lovino…then he could cross two more countries off his mental map of Europe.

_They even got Vash? In that fortress he calls- called a country?_ Well, cold comfort that it was- at least Ludwig wouldn't have to deal with knowing he'd failed to keep his promise to Feliciano. He'd figured Italy was lost anyway- but Switzerland too? If anyone had been ready to repel an invasion, they had been.

"…They went straight for brother…." Lili's tiny voice suddenly piped up from where she stood behind Lovino, eyes haunted and hollow. Her short blond hair was ragged, the ribbon long since having lost any color. Her dress was hardly better than rags, bearing marks of both travel and warfare in the burns and tears liberally marring whatever picturesque doll's garb it might have been once upon a time. "They…they went after him first, then the governmental and military leaders…"

"She's right, kraut." The slur sounded half hearted suddenly, tacked on as Lovino urged her to sit with surprising gentleness. His own clothes were war and travel smeared; the loose shirt was hardly worth calling that anymore. The bruises, cuts and wounds of the battles he'd escaped painted themselves out across olive skin. Suddenly Gilbert didn't think it was such a bad thing Antonio was probably dead. He'd have gone insane to see what happened to Lovino. "It happened in Italy that way too…'Ciano was hit before the invasion even started."

"How _can_…people…like you die?" The General is just looking between us then, earning a sharp, ugly look from Lovino as he hovers over the weary looking Lili. "Aren't you-"

"If you're gonna say immortal, remember why I'm here instead of West." That came out sharp and vicious enough to make even Lovino blink at the albino as he stubbed the cigarette out. "We can die; usually it's because something major happened to our people to change them or another one of us struck the killing blow, but we can also be killed if one of you hits us hard enough. It used to be that it _couldn't_ be done short of decapitating one of us- but people have gotten a whole lot more creative these days."

For all the flip tone, however, Gilbert's hands shook as he tossed the butt aside. The body of Ludwig had looked perfectly fine on the outside; it was inside the damage had lain. A precision strike with one of those chemical weapons- damn the coward who thought those up. Guns were bad enough; now chemical bombs?

"..We…we brought our people…" Lili's voice rose up again, weak with exhaustion and fear. "Lovino brought the Italians…I…brother's…"

"I get it, Lili; you've got Switzerland's and Liechtenstein's." _Damn, more refugees to look after_. Well hopefully some of Switzerland's military survived; it damned well _should_ have if Vash's bragging about the whole country being an army had anything to it. Gilbert wasn't going to hold his breath on anything useful having survived in Italy. "What about Austria?"

"…It's gone." Lovino's own tone was now every bit as weary and exhausted as Lili's; the temper simply dropped flat as he sat down himself. He was bearing the full weight of what remained of his people, as Lili was bearing Switzerland's and her own survivors. Though those words just added that much more sudden weight to Gilbert's shoulders as he laid back on the ground beneath that tarp. "Some of 'em joined up with Lili when we passed through but most of them were too confused or shocked to get it together."

_Gone? Even that stuck up priss is dead?_ He had lost track of how often he had fought Roderich and his people over the years; they'd never been the challenge Poland and Lithuania had been, but Specs had lasted despite his best (well admittedly sometimes half hearted) efforts. It had always seemed a forgone conclusion that there'd always be him, Roderich and Elizaveta at very least.

Gilbert fought down a sudden irrational desire to turn the march southward; not toward Austria but toward Hungary. Every fiber of logic he possessed as tactics went warned him against it, but he still couldn't keep himself from a least looking that way.

_Pointless to even try, Gilbo, and you know it._ He sighed at himself and just dropped back onto the dirt, eyes closed. _If Roderich's gone, she is too…she wouldn't have sat back and watched it happen. Damn, damn, _damn!

It wasn't at all cool or right for a German man to cry, let alone a Prussian. He'd told Ludwig that so many times when he was growing up. That was something sissies like Roderich did while playing their pianos and flutes. His eyes weren't wanting to listen to his reprisal of that admonishment, however. He could feel the burn of tears trying to form beneath the lids.

"Get in touch with your people and get 'em organized." Gilbert's naturally rough voice sounded hoarser yet as he laid there. "We're heading east into Poland; we'll keep going to Russia if we have to!" The thought of it made his skin crawl but the simple fact was there would possibly be no choice. Russia at least had a lot of land to hide and lay ambushes in; if Ivan agreed to help them, it had the right environment to possibly help turn this fight around and actually get some digs in back at these bastards.

They'd worry about the price tag later. It was better than simply dying, wasn't it? Maybe.

~ooOOoo~

"Something isn't going according to plan." Uniformed figures hustled about the table with its maps and diagrams as a more ornately uniformed woman leaned over the display. "The population collections from Italy, Switzerland, Liechtenstein and Germany are much further below the estimates was had for them."

"The people organized and evacuated quickly, ma'am." One of those bustling figures came to a halt at the woman's side, a folder offered up for her inspection. "We confirmed the death of the national avatars and governing figures of these countries, but the chaos that developed in the previous invasions did not fully manifest in these instances."

"Hmph…I would make a comment on true stereotypes if Italy weren't involved." The woman's lips quirked upward in a short lived smile as she paged through the folder. It was true; the people had organized much faster than was natural in these countries and had promptly fled in a reasonably organized manner. They had taken supplies and hidden their numbers as they went rather than heading off in a blind charge as panic would normally decree.

_Someone is still thinking for them on a mass level…._ She dropped the folder to the table then, scowling at the scattered papers. _But who? The avatars were confirmed and eliminated; our research wasn't wrong for the other countries about the results. _North Korea had been the test subject; helping it assist in the destruction of South Korea had indicated what an effective tactic removing the avatars was. Without them to give a step by step report of the country's state, the leaders had to rely on much less accurate reports from their own- or none at all if communications were disrupted.

_A tool is only useful if you don't let it become a crutch, gentlemen. You forgot how to govern without those avatars._ She turned and strode away from the table then, leaving her assistant to gather the papers back up.

"Dispatch a research team to each of the search missions; I want to know what happened." At his affirmative, she strode out of the room, feeling the carrier pitch and sway beneath her feet as she went. Soon enough they'd be able to have a proper land base; the United States had fallen, South America was falling country by country just like Europe was.

North America would finish falling when they could figure out where the hell Canada's avatar even was. Usually they were easy to pick out of a crowd if you knew what to look for, but this one seemed damned near impossible to locate. That had been the first snag in the plan, but it was one that would be corrected sooner or later.

Now there was a second snag; something was going very wrong in Europe. Maybe she shouldn't be too surprised; one would assume some of those avatars were far older than many of those they had already taken on.

"I should have expected Europe and Africa to be as difficult as China at the very least." She pushed open the door to the map room and stared up at the poster on the far wall. All of the countries that had been rid of their avatars were marked out there. So far, China's had eluded elimination…but then there was a great deal of land for him to hide in. She didn't want to have to drop enough chemical bombs to all but decimate the population beyond recovery to find him, either.

The idea was to kill only as many as it took to weaken and then eliminate these avatars, after all; not to destroy the population of the earth.

Europe showed signs of steady progress up until now, however. Though the countries that were giving the trouble had technically been seized and purged of their avatars, the people remained under something's sway…

"We'll find them eventually." She narrowed dark green eyes at the map then, lips set in a sharp frown. "Then we'll see who really rules this world."

_~To be continued, one of these days._

_Afterward: Yay for fanatics? Yes, this is an OC and not a country-incarnate but don't worry too much. You won't be seeing a whole lot of her- that would kind of ruin the story if I was giving too much away, wouldn't it? _


	3. Chapter 3

Author: Cyhirae

Notes: It's probably going to become apparent in this chapter I'm skipping certain verbal tendencies of characters while keeping others. My logic behind it: I'm trying by in large to honor speech patterns that have been explained and 'verbal ticks', but skipping on certain interpretations (such as Ore-sama = use of 'awesome').

Disclaimer: Hetalia is not mine.

* * *

The addition of Lovino and Lili's people was both a blessing and a curse, Gilbert had to surmise. They had brought more supplies- Lili's had brought the much needed medical supplies in particular- but their organization skills were a bit less than stellar. The march inevitably slowed with the addition of even more children and elderly as well as hot headed young men and women who were apparently of the mind that now that they had more people, they should turn and fight.

No one had any idea how much it nearly killed Gilbert to refuse that idea. This wasn't Prussia, he didn't have an actual army and there was no clear leadership among any of these people. The three of them kept looking the lines over, hoping for that sudden manifestation of a person that wasn't just a part of the herd. Someone whose face and name was instantly known to them and had that natural ability to draw others to follow them.

So far, this personage had been pretty well impossible to locate and the results were telling. Supplies were starting to finally run low as they were crossing the border into Poland; vehicles had to be abandoned as fuel ran out, meaning what couldn't be carried by the people having to leave it behind was also left behind.

_This is why I still like horses, damn it._ Gilbert listened to another report of one of the lines falling even further back; they had only just barely made it out of Germany compared to the rest of them. _As long as there's grass and water, they can keep moving. _

Pointing that out to anyone wasn't going to miraculously make all those trucks and cars turn into horses and wagons, unfortunately. Gilbert tried to massage away a headache, though he frowned at the warning sign he knew that was. His people were starting to fall apart; Lili's and Lovino's too, probably.

"Hell, maybe they'll listen to whatever Feliks' boss has to say…" Not a happy thought, to think of putting one of his most annoying old enemies in charge of his people…but it also wouldn't be the first time. _Don't go there, Gilbo; you don't want to dig that up right now…._

What was another concern was that they hadn't yet been challenged by any Polish security. And the closer they got to Warsaw, the more concerned Gilbert was. There were none of the signs of a chemical bombing such as what had laid Berlin and other major areas of Germany to waste, but shouldn't they have been at least told to stop and explain why they were here?

Gilbert looked to the General, who was still waiting for an actual response to the report that didn't come from some obscure musing of his 'leader'. The albino tried to pull his thoughts properly together from the morass of pain, exhaustion and confusion his people were all but drowning him in. He had only just begun to open his mouth to reply when the sudden tinge of copper warned him what was coming next.

Lovino and Lili were instantly at his side, keeping him from simply collapsing into the dirt as he heaved and coughed red at the General's feet. The man recoiled, starting to wave toward the medics but Lovino shook his head at the gesture.

"Don't even bother! Damn it, you can't do anything for him so just back off!" They lowered Gilbert to his knees and let him cough, Lili rubbing his back in an attempt to soothe while Lovino kept a hold of one arm to keep him from simply falling to the dirt. Finally the spasm eased and Gilbert gulped air greedily into lungs that burned as they had back in Berlin.

"What happened? Why did he suddenly collapse?" The General began to reach out to try to take Gilbert's other arm, only to find the albino himself waving him off as he spit out the last traces of the blood.

"It happens; you don't have to worry about that line anymore." Lili gave a little cry of dismay even as Lovino snapped out a curse in Italian. They, at least, had already done the math to some degree. For his part, though, Gilbert couldn't bring himself to move yet.

He had felt their deaths; it wasn't anything new, but on such a scale? It was the days of the Plague all over again; not even his bloodiest war had cost him so many people in one fell swoop.

"…Get the other lines...get them moving. No one falls behind again." Gilbert tried to push himself back up to his feet, Lili and Lovino both grabbing his arms to hold him up as he finally gained them. "Too close…keep moving. Warsaw…and find…decide on a damned…"

The rest of the demand fell along with Gilbert as his legs gave out; too many. That was just too many people at once. The calls and cries of those around him are distant things as his eyes close; was it too late? Had all the lines been caught?

Darkness swept over him and drug him down without offering the answer he wanted.

Lovino took the bulk of the albino's weight from Lili, easing him fully to the ground. He was still breathing, but it was shallow and quick. Lili knelt beside him a moment, lip caught in her teeth as she placed her hand first to his forehead, then to his chest.

"Fever; a very bad one…His people must be in worse shape than even he thought…" She looked to the General then, who had turned swiftly on his heel to march back toward his men. He would tolerate orders from Gilbert if he had to; but he wasn't going to take them from these two outsiders. "Lovino, we have to keep moving."

"Well they're going to keep going to Warsaw; we'll tag along. What else is there to do?" The words came out bitter and unhappy from the Italian. He didn't particularly like or even know Gilbert; but he didn't want to see another one of them die. He hadn't seen Feliciano die; he hoped it had been quick and not some slow, painful end such as the Prussian was crawling toward. "Chigi! He didn't even say what he was wanting to do once we got there!"

"Part of it is obvious…we need to talk to Feliks." Lili waved some men over then; Gilbert didn't look to be waking up any time soon. They were simply going to have to carry him until he did. "We have even fewer people left; if they are going to survive, we need his help."

The Italian scowled down at the unconscious Prussian as the men descended to collect him. Feliciano had once told him during the wars that an organized march to Warsaw from near the German border would take several days with fully trained men and supplies to move.

How long was it going to take with so many civilians in tow? They weren't right on the border but he had no maps to hand to give him an idea how far they had to go.

"Chigi! If it can get any worse than this, I don't want to know!"

~ooOOoo~

"You like, so _totally_ look like crap, _Prusy_." If the way of talking hadn't told Gilbert who it was, the 'name' certainly would have. It was his second least favorite after that Russia-sound alike the Anglos were so fond of.

"Nice…seein' you too…freak. So 'totally' lucky…I'm not hitting you." The albino forced his eyes to open; the pain at least had subsided. He could feel a new mark to remember the loss by, however; a chemical burn across his back as the sign of the lost line of refugees that had fallen too far back. Someone had at least thought to bandage it; it wouldn't make it heal any faster, but it isolated it at very least.

"Yeah, you're totally so welcome and stuff too, _Prusy._" _Funny, was that a note of relief? _Gilbert tried to focus on the green eyed blond but the most he could make out was a blob of yellow and green, though something he was fairly sure was a hand was just waved in front of his face. "…This like, totally sucks. I'm sharing a roof with you _again_."

"If there'd been a better choice…would've taken it, Poland." At least Feliks was wearing a proper men's uniform as his eyes finally focused enough to make out details; Gilbert wasn't sure he could have asked the General to take him very seriously if he'd been engaging in his little hobby. "Where are we..?" The room was windowless and the ceiling surprisingly low; the lights set in it were almost painfully bright on the white washed walls. Feliks was leaning back in a chair by the bed Gilbert had awoken on, arms tucked behind his head as he rocked himself back and forth with a foot on said bed. Unlike himself, Lili and Lovino; the blond was in perfect condition, it seemed.

"We're like, so totally underground, you know? These bunkers got built way~ _way~_ back in the Cold War and all that; you know, when it looked like America and Russia were _so_ gonna totally blow the world into nuclear winter?" Feliks eyed the walls a moment, then gave a deep, long suffering sigh. "'Course they so _totally_ didn't listen to me when we moved in here. Pink would've been way better than boring old white; or maybe yellow-"

"Hallelujah; there is a God. You've actually got smart bosses who don't listen to you." Gilbert still hadn't forgotten those stupid wing-banners his forces had worn into battle centuries ago; looking flashy on the battlefield was fine by him but there were a few limits. After a moment more of making sure his eyes were finally willing to cooperate, Gilbert began to sit up, only to find his back reintroduced without any great gentleness to the bed when Feliks all but shoved him back to the mattress.

"Hey, like hold your horses!" Gilbert could think of something else he'd like to do with horses than hold them as his reclaimed vision swam out of focus again and his back burned. "You're so like, so totally drugged you oughtta be tasting the colors right about now, _Prusya_. Getting up is so totally _not_ a good idea!"

"I…am so going to kill you…Poland…" Gilbert focused on breathing for a moment before he felt something cool being placed on his forehead. He blinked and tried, in a moment of pure mental loss, to see what it was, but any attempt to raise up his hand or sit up just met with another push from Feliks.

"Yeah, yeah- you've been saying that for years. You're so totally all talk!"

"..Can you say…anything and not use…'like' or 'totally'…just in a sentence just once?" He could not be lying here like this. There was too much going on. "Got…to get ready. Those bastards are-"

"Already bombing my land." That was a surprisingly matter of fact tone from Feliks, enough to be the slap in the face Gilbert needed to focus on the other nation again. "You've been _so_ out of it for a couple days, _Prusya._ Not too surprising; Lili'n Lovino's people were in pretty bad shape but yours? Dead on their feet, practically! Nearly made my doctors look bad, you know that?" The tone was oh so very offended, as if Gilbert had drug a near nation's worth of dying people into Poland entirely to let them die on his doorstep. "Anyway! They should be keeping them about as drugged up as you. My boss got everyone into the shelters so now they're just waiting them out."

"Did…they warn you?" Gilbert tried to pin down his own thoughts then through the haze; no wonder he was so damned out of it if they'd practically sedated every sick or wounded person from that march…granted it wasn't nearly as many people as he would have _liked_ to save with one whole line lost….

"That these bombers are looking for us? I'm so totally on it, don't worry!" Gilbert closed his eyes, musing for a moment over that and feeling less reassured than ever before. "They're never going to find us in _here_."

"You said this is a bunker…" Gilbert gave up trying to sit up then; Feliks was surprisingly strong when he wanted to be. He should have remembered that from way back then. This was the nation that just wouldn't die and always got back on his feet. "..the hell…makes you think they won't…look in a bunker?"

"Yeah, well….about that. There's a pretty good reason they so totally won't find us in any of my bunkers. We're so _not_ at my house." The blond suddenly looked considerably less sunny and cheered as he glanced to the door. "You like…have really good luck or _really_ bad luck, _Prusya_. Seriously, you do!"

Gilbert closed his eyes and tried to put the pieces together through the drug haze; 'luck' had seen him landed in a bunker that wasn't in Poland with Feliks (that constitutes 'bad luck', he's sure). He was very sure he had been in Poland and not even yet to Warsaw when he collapsed. Feliks also wasn't looking very pleased about the situation. The math was pointing at a sum Gilbert's mind kept trying to look the other way from.

_Dealing with _him_ was supposed to be the last, emergency option! _He didn't care what people said about Russia being a federal government with all sorts of social reforms having been underway for decades; _Ivan_ was the product of several centuries of revolutions, purges and other insane attempts to kill any of their own that didn't agree with whomever was calling the shots at the time.

_They could be the Federation of Freakin' Utopia and Ivan wouldn't be any less of a broken minded psychopath. A century of shaky peace and working toward prosperity wasn't going to fix that damage._ Gilbert tried very hard to think of another possibility; any of them really. But plainly this wasn't Lithuania; he couldn't see Feliks upset to be 'visiting' Toris.

The blonde sat back in his seat, kicking his legs back and forth idly as he watched the expressions running over the albino's face; realization, denial, desperation- it was a little sobering in its own right. Gilbert hadn't ever been easily put off by much of anything. He'd have never believed the other nation capable of worrying at all if he hadn't just watched a steady progress of its stages.

"You're like, so totally out of practice being an arrogant bastard, _Prusya_." Then there came the sound he had been dreading since Gilbert had been dropped off; the clicking of locks on the door as someone prepared to come far as he knew, only one person had the keys to the sections the nations were sheltering in. That suspicion was confirmed as the door swung open to show the huskily built, smiling man waiting on the other side.

"So he is; it's so nice to see he hasn't forgotten the lessons he learned, da?" Gilbert's eyes flew open as he all but threw himself into sitting up, ignoring Feliks' squawked out reminder that he shouldn't be trying to move. The room swam, the floor leapt away from his feet- then he was caught and pressed firmly back onto the bed, a much larger hand than Feliks' pinning him down. "But still very impulsive…hmm…what _do_ they call you now? I think I still prefer 'German Democratic Republic' for you, but that is out of date, da? Hm…so is 'Prussia' and 'Germany' is gone too…You do not have good luck with names, da?"

Gilbert struggled to breathe as the Russian spoke; then the hand on his chest eased up as Feliks leaned over to give it a rather sharp poke, followed by a grab of the wrist. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that the airy blonde was either fearless or entirely too dense to know when he should be afraid. Gilbert had never been entirely sure which it was when it came to his interactions with Ivan.

"Even he so totally can't talk if you're smothering him, Russia." The two nations glared at each other for a moment, then Ivan removed his hand fully, acknowledging the logic for the time being. "He's also not even with it yet; so like, come back later. _Way_ later."

"Hm…he seemed most aware a moment ago, da? I could hear you speak over the intercom here." Ivan smiled pleasantly at the outraged look on Feliks' face, then tapped a finger against Gilbert's forehead as the albino nation struggled to get his breath back. "But it does seem like he is only capable of speaking where coherency is not needed, da? I will be back in an hour; I do hope he will be ready to talk by then."

Gilbert listened as the door shut, a series of locks snapping closed to indicate it wasn't going to open again until Ivan returned. Feliks blew out a heavy sigh of annoyance, one hand resting on his hip as he glowered at the door.

" 'I like, so hope he'll be ready to talk by then', pfffff! You're like, listening to all this Ivan? If so-" Gilbert's grasp of Polish was rusty and out of date, but even so he was able to follow enough of what followed to smirk. He really hoped Ivan translated that; Feliks _could_ be creative- and vulgar- when so inspired.

The fired up blonde dropped back in his chair with a huff, arms crossed as he looked down at Gilbert. The albino didn't look to be all that improved from when he'd been asleep. Naturally pale skin was positively translucent and the breathing uneven- though that last could have been a result of Ivan's visit. Feliks sighed, then reached over to pick up a bowl from the table beside the bed and waved the spoon from it about like a sword.

"So like, say 'aah'- we're Russia's 'guests' right down to the _totally_ crummy food." Gilbert leveled a glare at the blonde nation as he leaned down to get the bowl and spoon both nearer to feed the other, though he blinked in some surprise when Feliks spoke on in a much lower, surprisingly serious tone once he was close enough. "He picked you up along with the rest of us from Warsaw just before the bombings started. He says he's so totally saving us and going to help and that he knows some of what's going on; so we like, agreed to play along for now. We'll get to talk to the rest _if_ you don't screw up and like, get locked up for causing trouble. Okay?"

"…Yeah, I get it." That was barely audible before Feliks began shoveling the contents of the bowl into his mouth; as expected, it tasted horrible and was probably laced with enough medicine and vitamins to either kill a horse or make it a champion racer, but it was something to quiet his stomach. And it gave him time to think with no talking needed.

He'd play along for now; if working with Ivan meant a chance to get at the bastards who killed his family and friends, it was what he had to do. He'd simply have to deal with the consequences when they were done; beating these guys would only be half the war. After all, until they cleaned up the bombed areas, there were a lot of people with no place to live.

_Hell. Finally getting closer to a war I could actually enjoy and I'm saddled down with civilians and a half assed government that keeps arguing with itself. _There wasn't much to do but endure it though, along with every bite of that horrid meal. Ivan would be back eventually; he needed his head on straight if he was going to avoid getting locked in here for good. _I'll nail him to a wall and beat him to oblivion _after_ all this. Yeah, that sounds good. Heheh._

"Like, less smirking and more eating, _Prusya~_" The spoon whapped him on the nose before settling into the bowl for another load. Feliks took advantage of Gilbert opening his mouth to curse at him to pop the spoon in, grinning the whole time. "You're like, not so bad when you're quiet!"

_And then I'll paint Feliks' house white with a crowned black eagle on the side. That sounds pretty good too. _Until then, there wasn't much to do but eat and wait for Ivan's return.

_~To be continued eventually_


	4. Chapter 4

Author: Cyhirae

Notes: I did say updates to this thing would be infrequent; I do a lot of original works so yeah. Fanfiction gets attention only when I'm not working on or pondering those.

Disclaimer: Hetalia still isn't mine and never will be.

The door opened almost exactly an hour later; Feliks confirmed it himself by counting the seconds on his watch as the locks came undone. He shrugged at Gilbert, then leaned back in the chair and kicked his legs back and forth as Ivan entered the room, looking over the two.

* * *

The former nation of Prussia was looking to be in slightly better health; his people hidden in Poland's bunkers were plainly at least stabilizing. Ivan nodded a moment in approval, then looked to Feliks.

"It is good to see you again- may I call you by your informal name as you lack any other?" The smile was bright and pleasant; it took everything Gilbert had to not simply sit up and swing. Was Ivan trying to get an excuse to lock him away?

"Beilschmidt'll do for you if you can figure out how to say it." Gilbert bared teeth right back in a half hearted 'attempt' at a smile; to the side, Feliks sighed and shrugged up at the ceiling. The albino leveled a glare at the blond, then turned his attention back to Ivan. "So what's the news? Boy George here says you know something about this mess."

"Boy George?" Feliks stopped mid-leg swing to pin an outraged look on Gilbert. "I'm like, _so_ painting your face pink when you sleep next!" Before things could degenerate further, Ivan stepped between the two, that entirely too kind of a smile creeping up a bit higher.

"We all agreed to get along now, da?" He paused in apparent thought for a moment, eyeing the albino. "Hmm….I think I will use 'Gilbert'; German is such an ugly language, da?" Behind Ivan, Feliks snickered, then returned to his little game of counting the seconds with each swing of his legs. He didn't fear Ivan; but this wasn't a good room to be in, not with these two old enemies exchanging 'greetings' of this kind.

"Russian isn't going to win any beauty contests either." Gilbert returned the comment with a thin, flat smirk. It was hard, keeping his own temper in check; the urge was certainly there to give into it and start taunting Ivan just as he used to. And probably to about the same end given his current shape. But that wouldn't get him anywhere. He owed it to West to try to keep his cool a little longer; for what he left to him if nothing else. "So what do you know?"

"Hm…losing your little foundling doused that fire some, da?" Ivan sounded almost disappointed, then the larger nation shrugged and looked the albino over a second time before giving him a solid shove in the chest. The smaller nation grunted in pain and promptly shoved back; but he didn't simply collapse into the mattress this time. "Well it seems you are recovering like you should; we will talk of it with the others, da?" Fingers curled into Gilbert's shirt before he could respond, hauling him up and out of the sick bed and setting him on his feet.

Gilbert swayed and caught the end of the bed to keep his balance. Whatever had been given to him and his people kept the room in motion after Ivan had let go, swinging it every which way around him one could imagine.

"Are you trying to drop me back into that bed, you stupid-" Gilbert cut the words off quickly as the room stabilized; now was not the time to let Ivan get under his skin. It was stupid to think he wouldn't try something to bring the other countries in hand. Losing his cool like he used to was only going to play into whatever Ivan thought he could get out of this. "Others? Who else is here; just us or-"

"Business, business; this is so very unlike you, Gilbert." Ivan paused a moment, frowning and turning that name over on his tongue a time or two more. "Egh; such a sound." Then he abruptly brightened, waving a hand as if a great revelation had just come to him. "Ah! Gilya; that sounds so much better!" It was about all Feliks could take to stay in his seat at that as he started laughing at the expression on Gilbert's face. Pure fury and insult, building into the ever predictable rage that would send the once-Prussian flying into Ivan's face- only he didn't.

The rage visibly ebbed; or perhaps it was just forcibly dammed. Either way, Gilbert twisted his hands into the bed's sheets, then carefully, methodically worked his fingers free as he straightened up from where he leaned for support. One breath, two… _Don't play his game. I can't; if I do, the war _after_ this mess is already over._

Old Fritz had always told him to think a little further than the nearest victory; it had only taken a couple centuries and a losing his brother - losing _himself_ - for him to figure out what, precisely, he'd meant.

"Now's not the time, Ivan." Gilbert's voice came out in a low, steady growl. Feliks smothered his laughter finally and eyed the two nations; Ivan looked no little disappointed his jab had gotten such a mild reaction after the promising build up. "I've got a brother to avenge; if you _don't_ know anything, then stop wasting my time. I'm through with you." Any sense of amusement had now fully fled the room. Feliks dropped the legs of his chair back to the floor, eyebrows raised high. He might mouth off to Ivan on a regular basis…but he was also about the only one who did beyond the now-deceased Alfred without some kind of tremor or at least scoping out escape routes first. Not even Gilbert had been immune to that; something Feliks hadn't blamed him for, not after seeing what had been done to Toris and his own experiences.

There wasn't a sign of it now in the albino as he stood and waited for Ivan to break the thickening silence. They all knew the large nation could simply lay him out flat; Gilbert had people now but they were frayed and had no leader; he was still not a nation. He couldn't hope to win in a fight, but there he stood anyway, chin raised and posture challenging.

Another heartbeat, two…and Ivan suddenly smiled, head inclined ever so slightly to acknowledge the other nation's stance. He turned to the door then, pulling it open and gesturing for both within to follow him.

"Well if that is how you wish to play it; come this way, da? The rest are waiting." He still hadn't said who the 'rest' were, but Gilbert let it slide for the time being. He hadn't won that one; but he hadn't lost it either.

_Russia zero, Preußen….half a point._ It hadn't been easy keeping his temper but at least he _had_ kept it. He deserved at least that much for it. _So let's see what you're up to…._

The walk to the room had been surprisingly quiet; Ivan led the way with Feliks bringing up the rear as they walked past guards stationed at various doors. The lot of them were watching with a surprising amount of interest in such a motley array of people walking by; Gilbert had to wonder just how much they knew about Ivan and his 'guests'.

Two more guard stations passed; and then they were entering into a larger room reminiscent of the old world meeting rooms. The table was huge with a scattering of chairs…but very few were actually filled. Lili caught Lovino's arm from where she sat, shaking it as she raised her hand to wave; the Italian, predictably, just scowled and made it a point to give no further notice to the Prussian.

Feliks promptly took off to claim a seat by Toris; the incarnation of Lithuania looked far from good. Gilbert could almost bring himself to sympathize with the more down to earth of the pair that once sent him running; being back in Russia couldn't be easy for him.

The other two Baltics were nowhere in sight, however. Gilbert found himself actually hoping they were just hiding elsewhere; no more of them needed to die. Not like this. The most surprising sight waited at the head of the table, however.

Yao sat at the table head, pale and wan, his gaze oddly listless. His skin was pale and his hair loose and limp; bruises and small chemical burns could be seen on what of the hands poked out from beneath their long sleeves. To one side, the young man Gilbert had never heard a name for, the representative of Hong Kong, stood and watched the incarnation of China. He said little to the new arrivals, merely leaned down to murmur something to Yao; a reaction barely registered as the older nation flicked his gaze to them.

"Hell, if I looked half that bad, I'm amazed I'm alive…" Gilbert looked to the rest of the table then; of the Nordics, only Finland and Sweden's representatives were present, both occupied with their own thoughts, it seemed. A small white dog with bandages sat in the larger Nordic's lap, while about his neck hung a rather familiar looking clip strung on a chain. The shorter Tino cradled a rather sick looking puffin in one arm and a ridiculously small hat sat on the table between him and Berwald.

Gilbert returned his attention to Yao; he didn't need to even consider why only two of the Nordics were here. It was probably nothing short of a miracle even that many had survived. _What the hell is going on? Where is everyone else? They can't have gotten _this_ many of us!_

Ivan gave a light shove to Gilbert's shoulder, pushing him down into a chair before going to Yao himself to say something quietly to the shorter nation. The door opened again, permitting a few others in…but they were painfully few.

They were also ones Gilbert couldn't immediately place. Some were possibly African, South American or maybe even islands from the Pacific and Atlantic…but they weren't immediately recognizable. They bore some similarities to others he had seen before, but what….

_Micronations._ The shock stopped Gilbert abruptly in his pondering. That's what he was seeing; the bastard children of nations. Micronations, principalities, territories, enclaves; places that existed within countries but were not _quite_ a part of it, with their own rules, cultures and ways of life.

All of them had started out something like this once, of course; but that had been in an era where a 'footloose' nation could still take hold, grow and be acknowledged. These people were unknowns because they had never had reason to set foot in the meeting room of nations; they weren't acknowledged as such. These were 'nations' perpetually trapped as children; undeveloped and likely to disappear without anyone to remember they'd even existed in a few years.

Finally, Ivan sat down to Yao's left as the last of the 'children' took their seats at the table. Gilbert leaned back in his own chair, watching as the Asian nation roused himself and looked about the table. Very little life returned to his eyes, however, as he shook his head slowly, visibly dismayed.

"…This is all..? Ivan…there…"

"There are no others, da." For once, Ivan sounded completely serious, the soft and boyish tones he usually spoke in all but abandoned. "If there are, they have hidden themselves far too well for even us to find them."

Hiding from Russia; now that took skill. Gilbert shook his head slightly and looked to the lot of 'children' again; they were in a sorry state indeed if this was all they had to work with. Yao lowered his head a moment then after scanning the chairs one more time; it looked like there was someone else he was seeking but failed to find. He sighed deeply and held his arm out to Hong Kong's representative, rising to his feet shakily with the other's assistance.

"…I see very few I know here…so very few…it makes it so much more important you hear what I have to say." Yao leaned heavily on Hong Kong then and winced suddenly as he shook visibly. "There…are those who hunt us…not…our people…not our resources….they hunt _us_."

An explosion of mutters and dismayed calls filled the air; for his part, Gilbert kept his attention fixed on Yao. The eldest nation was starting to look even worse; there were patches of darker red on that tunic he was fairly sure hadn't been there previously; even Ivan was starting to look concerned.

"Be quiet!" That shout brought the desired silence to the room; if only because it had been accompanied by a trickle of red from his lips as well. "I…cannot speak much longer; hear only what I have to say! …They thought…to turn my own upon me…they failed. These 'bombs' are….not dropped. They are placed…by traitors; who know where to seek us. They know…the names we use…our faces…"

Ivan rose quickly to catch Yao as he collapsed against the table; he all but snatched him from the other Asian and hefted him up into his arms.

"That is enough, da? We can do the rest-" A thin, pitiful hand covered Ivan's mouth then, with traces of red to mark where the fingers brushed.

"…I will…live. One of _them_...tempted one of mine. He did not betray…he warned me. They 'bomb' my people now…they will try to weaken...and then destroy me. As they have the others." Gilbert couldn't help it; a low whistle escaped him as he shook his head.

"Trying to kill _you_? Don't they even get not all your people are in China?" Ivan glowered at the Prussian, but Yao only smiled, pained thing though it was. Gilbert settled for glaring back at Ivan with a half smirk for a moment, before looking to the smaller figure in his hold again.

"There is much they do…not understand. I cannot act against them….Ivan…cannot. Those...of known nations must hide." The Russian looked mortally offended at that assertion; Gilbert savored it a moment until he realized the half-dead looking nation was looking at _him_; then he turned that gaze to Lovino and Lili as well.

"The…'children'...should hide as well. But…I think you…you three…may be able to act. Find them…hide…who and what you are. They...do not know...should not...know...you...Find them…get among them…find out why…" Anything more was lost as Yao began to cough and couldn't stop; Ivan cradled him to try to ease the coughing, then quickly started for the door to take him elsewhere; probably to the doctors.

Large population or not; even China could fall if you just took out enough of his people at a time. Gilbert shook his head then looked around the table…and started slightly as he realized nearly every last one of them was staring at either him, Lovino or Lili. He started back as the silence thickened, then Feliks suddenly pushed his chair back as he threw his hands into the air.

"We're like, having to rely on _them_ to like, sneak into a nation murdering cult and not get caught? We are so _totally_ screwed!"

For once, Gilbert decided not to say anything at all to the blond's proclamation in that valley girl speech of his. Looking at the other two staring back at him with either a glare or that shocked deer-in-headlights expression, he had to admit it.

Feliks was probably right if it was up to _them_ to do some kind of espionage. 'Totally screwed' sounded very apt right now.

"Well come on you two; let's go see where Ivan took Yao." Gilbert shoved back from the table, tucking his hands in his pockets as he went. "I'd like to know a little more since I don't have an army to use this time." His people couldn't even pick a leader yet; he could feel that division still tugging him this way and that and it was going to drive him insane before much longer.

He doubted Lovino and Lili were doing any better. But the two rose anyway, the one giving a snapped out curse in Italian while Lili wrung her hands in her dress in worry. A former warrior nation, a nation that had never done much of anything right beyond screwing up, and a nation that had nearly died until another one saved her and stopped just shy of flat out taking her over by taking her in, instead.

Feliks was definitely on to something there if they had to use any kind of subtlety to get by.

_But we've got to do _something. _Never thought I'd wish England was here._ Arthur's spy network would be nice to have had, Gilbert had to admit. _But it didn't save him, did it? Hell._

Gilbert shook his head, then led the other two away from the murmuring nations and micronations to find Ivan and Yao instead. For once, he wanted to know a little more about his enemy before he went up against them. After all, these were the people who killed West.

The people who, according to Yao, had very _deliberately_ killed West. He had to learn all he could about them then; he owed it to West to rip them apart. For West; for Antonio and Francis, for Roderich and Elizaveta; for all the nations he'd never see again and never thought he'd care about being gone.

_But where the hell do we even start…?_

_To be Continued, eventually…._


End file.
